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Today is a Lifting Day! WHEEEE!

5:45am - Up for work; wheeeee! Today is a lifting day...YAYYY! I can't wait to get home from work so I can lift! Yahoo!!!

6:45am - 7:30am - Commute to office! Double wheeee! This is where I experience the majority of my stress and frustration. I live by the George Carlin rule of something along the lines of: "Everyone who drives slower than me is an asshole and everyone who drives faster is a maniac." I'm trying to be a better, more patient driver during my commute. Road zen. Road zeennnnnnnn. I need some. Open to hearing of others' road meditations or mantras or something. I digress.

7:30 - 4:00 - Working. Workingworkingworking. (Screwing around on MFP. And legitimately working, yes. I'm very productive.) But meanwhile, I'm stressed. *Lot of work drama currently.* 

4 - 4:45 - Driving home. See earlier commuting description.

4:45 - In my workout clothes. Yeahhhhhhhh baby. I'm getting pumped. WOO! BRING IT!

4:55 - The kids are both still hanging off of me and we're talking about our respective days and tickling and being t-rexes and you know, normal stuff. It's awesome. And totally overwhelming at times, when I'm still in crazy-office-stress day and trying to switch over mentally to Mommy-Meg. 

5:00 - I'm back in street clothes, 'cause we've decided to go to Ikea. Sort of a last minute errand that needed to happen sooner rather than later. Long story. But anyway. In the car on the way to Ikea.

 8:30 - Home from Ikea. Oh, heheheh, this is the best part...the whole way home, we had 2 long boxes strapped to the roof, and everytime we went over 40 mph (which was, like, the WHOLE WAY heheheeeee!) the straps or something vibrated, so my car sounded like it had an airplane engine strapped to the roof. I'm seriously cracking up now just thinking about it. HA!

9:00 - Car unloaded.

9:30 - Kids are in bed. My children are crazy and fabulous and beautiful and thank you, O fabulous universe, for bedtime. Amen.

10:00 - The living room is mostly picked up. The laundry is mostly done. No, that's not true. But at least it's all in the basement where it belongs. Dishes are locked and loaded. I'm exhausted. Today is a lifting day. I'm wiped out. It was a great, GREAT day!! I'm happy for every last minute of it. But, I'm cooked here, people. This makes me appreciate my friends who homeschool or work 60 hours a week or go to school full-time or all that stuff that much more! DUDES, we do a lot of stuff! YIPES!

Anyway. Today was a lifting day. CURSES!!!

Okay. 

Tomorrow is a lifting day. 

Today is a Lifting Day! WHEEEE!

5:45am - Up for work; wheeeee! Today is a lifting day...YAYYY! I can't wait to get home from work so I can lift! Yahoo!!!

6:45am - 7:30am - Commute to office! Double wheeee! This is where I experience the majority of my stress and frustration. I live by the George Carlin rule of something along the lines of: "Everyone who drives slower than me is an asshole and everyone who drives faster is a maniac." I'm trying to be a better, more patient driver during my commute. Road zen. Road zeennnnnnnn. I need some. Open to hearing of others' road meditations or mantras or something. I digress.

7:30 - 4:00 - Working. Workingworkingworking. (Screwing around on MFP. And legitimately working, yes. I'm very productive.) But meanwhile, I'm stressed. *Lot of work drama currently.* 

4 - 4:45 - Driving home. See earlier commuting description.

4:45 - In my workout clothes. Yeahhhhhhhh baby. I'm getting pumped. WOO! BRING IT!

4:55 - The kids are both still hanging off of me and we're talking about our respective days and tickling and being t-rexes and you know, normal stuff. It's awesome. And totally overwhelming at times, when I'm still in crazy-office-stress day and trying to switch over mentally to Mommy-Meg. 

5:00 - I'm back in street clothes, 'cause we've decided to go to Ikea. Sort of a last minute errand that needed to happen sooner rather than later. Long story. But anyway. In the car on the way to Ikea.

 8:30 - Home from Ikea. Oh, heheheh, this is the best part...the whole way home, we had 2 long boxes strapped to the roof, and everytime we went over 40 mph (which was, like, the WHOLE WAY heheheeeee!) the straps or something vibrated, so my car sounded like it had an airplane engine strapped to the roof. I'm seriously cracking up now just thinking about it. HA!

9:00 - Car unloaded.

9:30 - Kids are in bed. My children are crazy and fabulous and beautiful and thank you, O fabulous universe, for bedtime. Amen.

10:00 - The living room is mostly picked up. The laundry is mostly done. No, that's not true. But at least it's all in the basement where it belongs. Dishes are locked and loaded. I'm exhausted. Today is a lifting day. I'm wiped out. It was a great, GREAT day!! I'm happy for every last minute of it. But, I'm cooked here, people. This makes me appreciate my friends who homeschool or work 60 hours a week or go to school full-time or all that stuff that much more! DUDES, we do a lot of stuff! YIPES!

Anyway. Today was a lifting day. CURSES!!!

Okay. 

Tomorrow is a lifting day. 

You funny lil thing, you.

So check it.

(My name is G, so see, yeah of course I got my slogan, not a hero like Hogan, I'm from downtown...A flower child of the truest kind of the clear blue eye of the fresh squeezed jive mind...)

Oh wait. Yeah. Supposed to be talking about weight shizz, not quoting G Love lyrics. So. Right. Where was I?

Oh yeah.

Check it.

So, this morning I woke up, went into the bathroom for my shower, and got all nudie (sorry for anyone who just threw up or winced in pain at the thought). While I was waiting for the water to heat up, I stood in front of the mirror, and had a moment of 'DAAAAAAAAMN, look at that! I'm looking BETTER!' So I spent a moment or two posing around, stretching, checking out my riblets (no, they're not anywhere close to sticking out, but if I stretch A LOT, you can tell that they're under there). Peering over my shoulder at my back, trying to make muscles, etc. It was a good time, and I swear I looked smaller around in the rib/chest area. NICE. I was thrilled. So I decided, let's hop on the scale!

Hopped on the scale. It read a full pound and a half more than it did yesterday. Teehee. The funny thing is, my first thought towards the scale was, "Awww, you SILLY!" and not "Awwww, Ima mash you with a mallet now." Funny how the normal fluctuations of weight can seem almost endearing and adorable after recording a loss. Like, my scale hadn't moved much in about a month until this week. Earlier this week, I was ranting to my buddy Jen (hi, Jen!!) about how all this 'eating more to weigh less' crap wasn't working for me. She did her awesome health coach thing (soothe, soothe, pet, pet, EAT!!!!!) and I moaned and grumped like a little whiny punk. And then BAM, the next day, I'd lost, like, over a pound. I mean to say, the scale hit the lowest number I've seen yet in this lil journey. Okay. OKAY! I'll do it for another month.

So, yeah. The point I was trying to make is that this is the first time I'm seeing a difference in myself, and was really struck by it, and eff that silly little tricky scale.

(Heheheheh....until the next time 3-6 weeks go by with no loss and I come on here ranting about how the universe is conspiring against me and my scale is leading the take-down.)

Oh No She Didn't!...Oh Yes, She DID!!

Well guys, I think it's safe to say that my mind shift has occurred. Insert freaky twilight zone woo-woo noises here.

Let me tell you how I know for sure that this is the case.

I was planning on having blood drawn by my doc's office this morning (standard bloodwork test thingies to see where my cholesterol, vitamin levels, etc. are), which would have required me to fast after 7pm last night. I didn't plan my calories for yesterday accordingly; normally, see, I eat dinner around 6ish and then finish up the day with a snack around 8 or 9ish (yes, I'm an evening eater), bedtime anywhere from 10:30-midnight. When I realized I had forgotten about fasting, I finalized my MFP diary entry for the day at 7pm, knowing I was going to fast for the remainder of the night. My net caloric intake for the day was around 1250ish.

About a month ago, this would have made me feel CRANKY with myself. I would have been mad at myself for having netted *OVER* 1200 calories.

Yesterday, however, this was not the case. I finalized my MFP diary entry feeling frustrated with myself for being so far UNDER my BMR.

That. Is. Awesome.

'Cause, see, I was just like every other typical chick in America up until a month ago. When I decided to lose weight, I decided to DIET. I set my calorie level at 1200, but felt more proud of myself when I closed out at night with 950 or 1100. I tried to train myself to ignore starvation pangs. I obsessed over how much cardio I could fit in around my full-time job and mothering my kids. I took things away from my meals to save calories so that a relatively healthy turkey sandwich on whole wheat bread became a couple of slices of deli meat rolled up in lettuce. LOTS of lettuce. I was looking for substitutes for every type of food. The bigger the word "DIET" or "LIGHT" on the label, the more likely I was to buy it. I weighed myself numerous times per day, and would FEEL like the pound variation I might see from one hour to the next was actually due to that extra cracker I ate. The number was a reflection of my worth, baby, and the lower the number, the more I patted myself on the back.

So last night, I was sitting on the couch feeling grumpy (and HUNGRY) because I hadn't planned out my calories for the day. I realize that it's probably not a healthy thing that I've personified my metabolism...that may well end up being a separate blog at another time...BUT, I'm okay with the shift. In my mind, my metabolism was a beast that sat deep inside of me, taking every bit of food that passed my lips, turned it into fat, and then gleefully chuckled as it lobbed the fat towards my various body parts.  Last night, what I imagined was my metabolism curled up deep inside of me, sad and scared that maybe it was being neglected again. I hadn't fed it. I saw it (okay, I *know* I've got issues folks, but follow me here) as a reflection of all the times I ever used food and binging and purging and starvation tactics to take revenge on something inside of me. It's all very metaphorical. I think the long and short of it is, I've never taken care of myself. And the things I've done to my body, they're all curled inside of me and I see them reflecting back all this hurt. Things I've done to hurt myself, for whatever reason. My poor little metabolism. My poor little inner child. I want to pet, pet, pet, and soooooooothe.

So I was sitting on the couch pondering all this, when Shae (my 3 1/2 year old daughter) came padding down the stairs, having problems falling asleep and needing a snack. So what did I do? I swung her up into my arms, and husband-dude and I made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at 9:30pm. We sat at the table and enjoyed a rare few minutes with just one child (they're twins and are almost NEVER separated). I realize this may be all hard to follow, but again...it just drew so many parallels in my mind. Maybe I was overtired. In any case, I ate. I fed my daughter. I fed my metabolism. I decided to get the bloodwork done another day. (Pet, pet, pet, soooooothe.) But see, this time, eating wasn't about soothing an emotional lack or pain or anything like that. It was more like a promise. A promise to my cute little inner pet metabolism...see? I can take care of you. It's okay. I won't hurt you anymore. I won't use food as revenge or comfort. I will provide for you and give you what you need. I promise.

About a month ago, a little more, actually, I started reading about BMR and TDEE and all those other acronyms that can seem so overwhelming when you cross over to the dark side of the forums (Eat more! Weigh less!). And the most amazing thing has happened since.

I know, without a doubt, that I will never diet again.

That's so LIBERATING! Say it with me, people. We will NOT diet again! So many people on MFP talk about making a lifestyle change, but they're eating 1200 calories a day. I don't see that as a lifestyle. The difference is all in the learning, my friends. A diet is, by nature, undertaken for a finite period of time. You go on one. You go off one. It's a cycle, self-perpetuating: diet, lose some weight, go off the diet, gain all the weight back, DIET AGAIN!

I threw a wrench into the gears, folks, by seeking education and aligning myself with people who know their shit, so to speak. The key is: once you learn something and understand it, you can't unlearn it. I keep saying this. I cannot UNLEARN what I've learned about nutrition and my body. And THAT is what is going to make the difference.

 RRRRRROWR!!!!

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